Wednesday, September 7, 2011

The Final White Whale

There's this story that I read...a few years ago now. I loved it so much that I insisted to Rish that we had to do it for the show. Now, Rish didn't need much convincing. All I had to do was tell him the title of the story, and he was on board.

I tried to contact the author, and was unable to. I let it sit for a while, then tried again, and was still unable to. I let it sit for a while longer, then tried again. I was still unable to get a response from him. At this point, it had been more than a year since I first read the story, and I was forced to admit that it was probably never going to happen. Of the many white whales that swim beyond our reach on the Dunesteef Audio Fiction Magazine, this one seemed to be the one we'd never be able to harpoon.

Last night, however, as I was preparing to write my 500 word quota for the day, I thought, out of the blue, that I'd give this author one last chance to be a part of our show. I fired off a quick email, and then got on with what I'd turned the computer on to accomplish.

I was very tired last night when I sent the email, and I'd almost completely forgotten that I'd even done it. As if I was drunk emailing or something. So this morning, when his response came back, it was like an unspoken prayer had been answered with a Christmas miracle. He agreed to let us do his story on the show.

I'm so stoked. You know, there's been many things that we've wanted to do with our show, and I think, once we podcast this story, we'll have accomplished them all. The final white whale will be harpooned, and I'll be able to die a happy man. Good thing Rish has got that final episode edited and ready to post, huh?

So anyway, I'm not going to tell you the author's name, nor the story's title. I want to keep that close to the vest so that you can't ruin your appetite by reading it ahead of time. Just know that, about six months from now, when a story with a completely unforgettable title appears in the queue, all things have been accomplished, and I can die satisfied with myself.